CHAPTER 9: THE BLACKSMITH’S LEGACY

Chapter 9 – The Blacksmith’s Legacy

The glowing staircase descended deeper than Michael expected. Each step pulsed faintly beneath his boots, as though the very stone carried veins of mana. The deeper he went, the thicker the air became—dense with the metallic tang of iron and the faint burn of fire. The echo of hammer strikes reverberated through the cavernous passage, steady and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of a forge that had never cooled.

By the time he reached the final step, the staircase opened into a vast underground chamber. The ceiling was high enough to vanish into shadows, and the walls shimmered with embedded mana crystals, glowing blue and orange like molten embers. At the chamber’s center stood a colossal anvil, cracked with age yet radiating authority. The floor bore intricate runic circles, weaving around each other like a blacksmith’s chain links.

Michael’s breath caught.

This wasn’t just a dungeon, it was a legacy.

The sound of hammering rang once more, yet no figure stood by the anvil. Instead, the system’s familiar chime pierced the silence.

---

[ Trial of Worthiness Initiated ]

Three Challenges Await: Strength. Will. Mastery.

Failure: Death.

---

Michael’s hand instinctively tightened around his sword hilt. His heartbeat quickened, not from fear alone but from the sheer weight of history pressing down on him.

"This is it... the trial of Delora." His voice echoed faintly in the chamber. "The step toward the Drakran Sword."

The runes flared, and the floor shifted beneath his feet. Stone platforms rose like a battle arena, enclosing him in a circle of glowing steel. Sparks burst from the runes, and shapes began to emerge a monstrous silhouettes hammered into existence by the forge’s will.

The Trial of Strength had begun.

---

Trial of Strength

The first creature solidified into an iron wolf, its metallic fangs glinting in the rune light. Its movements were eerily smooth, each joint clicking as though oiled. Behind it, three more emerged, followed by hulking iron golems, each nearly twice Michael’s height. Their bodies were crude but dense, forged from slabs of steel, their eyes glowing red with artificial malice.

Michael drew his sword in one clean motion, mana surging into the blade.

E-rank constructs... no, some of these are closer to D. Their defense will be tough, but their movements are rigid. If I strike precisely, I can dismantle them.

The first wolf lunged. Michael sidestepped, mana flowing into his legs to sharpen his agility. He pivoted low, blade flashing upward. Steel screeched as his sword sliced into the wolf’s joint, severing a metallic leg. Sparks erupted, the beast collapsing with a metallic whine.

But the fight didn’t pause. Two more wolves leapt simultaneously. Michael twisted, embedding mana into his blade’s edge, and struck in a horizontal arc. The strike rang like a bell, splitting one wolf in half. The second clipped his arm with its jaws metal teeth scraping against his reinforced mana skin.

He grimaced. "Tch. That was close."

Mana pulsed through his arm as he shoved the beast away, stabbing through its core with a precise thrust. The construct collapsed, fragments scattering across the rune floor.

Then the golems advanced.

Each step shook the arena, their fists as large as Michael’s torso. He steadied his breathing, recalling the game mechanics from his past life. Golems are slow, but durable. Their weak points are the mana cores embedded in their chests. Strike true, or waste energy hacking at their armor.

The first golem swung. Michael ducked beneath the massive fist, boots sliding across stone. He surged upward with a rising slash, mana bursting through his blade. The edge cut into the golem’s chest sparks flew, but the strike only gouged the armor. The core flickered faintly behind the crack.

Not enough power...

The second golem’s fist barreled toward him. Michael crossed his blade with both hands, reinforcing it with mana, and braced. The impact rang like thunder, his knees nearly buckling under the pressure.

Gritting his teeth, he redirected the force, sliding sideways, and stabbed again, this time channeling mana directly into the blade’s tip. The strike pierced the weakened crack, shattering the glowing core. The golem froze, then collapsed into rubble.

Michael exhaled sharply. His stamina was draining faster than expected, but his strikes were becoming cleaner, sharper. Each movement was calculated, a blend of instinct and remembered mechanics.

He pivoted to the next golem, dodging another crushing strike, and unleashed a mana-infused thrust straight into its core. The construct collapsed instantly.

But the arena trembled.

The runes pulsed violently, and from the anvil’s glow emerged the final challenger of Strength: a Bronze Juggernaut.

It stood nearly four meters tall, a massive armored giant wielding a two-handed war hammer that gleamed like molten bronze. Its presence radiated raw pressure, closer to a D+ ranked beast than anything Michael had faced so far.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. This is the real test.

The Juggernaut moved with surprising speed for its size, the hammer descending in a crushing arc. Michael rolled aside, the weapon slamming into the floor with an explosion of sparks. The shockwave alone forced him back several steps.

"Fast and strong... great."

The Juggernaut swung horizontally. Michael leapt over the sweep, twisting midair, and aimed a mana-charged slash at the creature’s helmet. The strike sparked but bounced—its armor far too dense.

Landing hard, Michael steadied his breath. The core... find the core.

The Juggernaut lunged again, hammer smashing downward. Michael sidestepped, focusing mana into his legs, and sprinted along its side. He slashed at its torso, and this time his blade dug deeper. Sparks showered, and for an instant he glimpsed a faint glow beneath the bronze plating.

"There!"

He poured mana into his sword, dashing forward as the Juggernaut turned. Timing his movement with the giant’s swing, he slid beneath the hammer’s arc and thrust his blade into the glowing crack.

The Juggernaut roared—metal groaning like a dying beast. The core shattered, bronze plates collapsing in chunks. The giant fell to its knees, then crumbled entirely.

Michael dropped to one knee, panting heavily. Sweat dripped down his brow. His stamina reserves were dangerously low, but his blade remained steady in his grip.

---

[ Trial of Strength: Passed ]

---

The arena dissolved into sparks. Michael found himself standing once again by the colossal anvil. But the forge was no longer silent. A low, rumbling voice echoed, neither hostile nor kind.

"Strength tested. Now... Will."

---

Trial of Will

The chamber darkened. The glow of the runes vanished, replaced by shifting shadows. Michael blinked, and suddenly he was no longer in the forge.

He stood in a dim room, one all too familiar—his old apartment back on Earth. The computer desk sat before him, the faint glow of the monitor casting shadows across the clutter. His heart clenched.

"This... is—"

On the screen, his old game account flickered. He saw himself, hunched over, eyes hollow, hands trembling on the mouse. The memory of his death replayed—the silent collapse, no one there to notice, no one there to care.

The screen warped, and the voices of old friends echoed.

"You wasted your life, Michael."

"You weren’t good enough to stand among us."

"You’ll always be weak."

Michael gritted his teeth. His fists clenched. This isn’t real. It’s the Trial.

The shadows shifted again. Now he stood before Leon Lionheart, the protagonist of this world, laughing with his golden sword raised. Aurelia Miller smirked beside him, her crystal eyes gleaming with disdain.

"You don’t belong here."

"You’ll never reach us."

The whispers grew louder, suffocating.

"Give up."

"Leave the sword."

"Power will consume you."

Michael’s breath came ragged, but his eyes hardened. He shouted into the void:

"NO. I won’t give up! Not this time. Not in this life!"

Mana surged from his body, a radiant pulse that shattered the illusions like glass. The voices silenced. The world dissolved back into the forge.

---

[ Trial of Will: Passed ]

---

Michael exhaled slowly, steadying himself. His chest felt lighter, as if the weight of two lives had been burned away.

Then the forge shifted again.

---

Trial of Mastery

A phantom dwarf appeared by the anvil broad-shouldered, eyes glowing faintly, his form shimmering like smoke. His voice rumbled with pride and challenge.

"Strength alone breaks. Will alone falters. To wield my legacy, you must master both. Show me your harmony of blade and mana."

The runes flared, and from them emerged a warrior forged .The Rune-Knight Construct rose, towering above him, its frame sculpted from enchanted steel. Glowing runes pulsed across its armor like veins of molten fire, and the greatsword it carried was twice the size of Michael’s body. Every step it took echoed like a war drum, radiating pressure that tightened around his chest.

Michael’s jaw clenched. This is the real test. If I can’t beat this, I don’t deserve the Drakran Sword.

He reached into his inventory pouch and pulled out a small vial of shimmering red liquid—a Strength-Burst potion he’d purchased before entering the dungeon. Without hesitation, he uncorked it and drank.

The effect hit like fire racing through his veins. His muscles tightened, his vision sharpened, and his mana flared brighter. For the next ten minutes, he was stronger, faster, sharper.

The Rune-Knight moved first. It blurred forward, its massive blade descending in a perfect arc aimed to cleave him in two. Michael braced and shouted:

"Ice Shield!"

A translucent wall of crystalline ice burst into existence between them. The construct’s greatsword crashed into it, shattering the shield into glittering fragments. The force alone sent Michael skidding backward, boots carving lines into the stone floor. His arms trembled under the shockwave.

But he was already moving.

"Sword Slash!"

His sword gleamed with compressed mana, and he lunged forward, releasing a crescent arc of energy that cut across the arena. The Rune-Knight deflected it with a casual sweep of its blade, sparks scattering into the air.

The construct countered, thrusting with inhuman precision. Michael twisted his body sideways, barely evading, and shouted:

"Shadow Swap!"

His body flickered into shadow, vanishing from sight. A heartbeat later, he reappeared at the construct’s flank, sword raised high. Mana surged through his blade as he unleashed another Sword Slash, striking against the knight’s glowing runes.

The blow landed, sparks spraying as steel met enchanted steel. A thin crack spread across one of the knight’s chest runes.

Good—damage confirmed.

The Rune-Knight retaliated instantly, swinging its blade in a wide arc. Michael raised his sword to block, reinforcing it with mana. The impact shook his bones, forcing him to his knees.

He gritted his teeth. I can’t keep taking hits head-on... I need to push harder.

"Frost Forge!"

His sword shimmered with icy-blue light, layers of frost coating its edge. Cold mist swirled around him, lowering the temperature of the arena. With a roar, he struck again, his frosted blade clashing against the knight’s runes. This time, the strike bit deeper, frost creeping along the crack.

The knight staggered, its movements briefly slowed by the encroaching ice.

Michael seized the moment. He raised his free hand and shouted:

"Ice Bullet!"

Dozens of sharp, crystalline shards of ice materialized in the air around him. With a flick of his wrist, they shot forward like arrows, peppering the Rune-Knight. Some bounced harmlessly off its armor, but others found gaps, chipping away at its joints and runes.

The knight let out a metallic roar and surged forward, its runeblade glowing with burning light. It swung in a brutal downward arc too fast to dodge.

Michael crossed his blade in front of him, pouring mana into his guard, but the strike smashed through his stance, forcing him to one knee. The ground cracked beneath him.

His vision blurred, mana reserves rapidly draining.

"Damn it—!"

The Rune-Knight raised its sword again for a finishing blow. Michael clenched his teeth, his mind racing. If I keep this up, I’ll burn out before I win... No, I have one card left.

He focused on his second affinity. Space.

Mana warped around him, the air distorting with faint ripples. His blade shimmered, icy blue merging with faint silver distortions. Space bent around the edge of his weapon, the frost sharpening into an otherworldly edge.

Michael steadied his breathing. This would be everything every drop of mana he had left.

The Rune-Knight descended, blade glowing with lethal power.

Michael roared, mana erupting violently from his body:

"Spatial Frost Sever!"

He vanished in a flicker, reappearing behind the construct in a single step. His blade, glowing with fused Ice and Space, cleaved through the air in a flawless arc.

The strike cut clean through the Rune-Knight’s chest. Space distorted violently along the cut, while frost exploded from within, spreading like veins of ice.

For a heartbeat, the knight froze in place, its glowing runes flickering. Then, with a sound like shattering glass, its body split apart, cleaved perfectly in two.

The halves collapsed onto the ground, shattering into sparks of fading mana.

Michael dropped to one knee, his chest heaving. His vision dimmed, and his mana reserves screamed empty. He had burned through every ounce of energy, every drop of strength.

The icy mist faded, the warped space calmed, and silence returned to the forge.

Then the system’s voice rang, final and absolute.

---

[ Trial of Mastery: Passed ]

---

Michael collapsed onto his back, laughing breathlessly despite the ache in his body. He had done it. Against impossible odds, against exhaustion and fear, he had proven himself.

The forge blazed with golden light. The phantom dwarf’s voice echoed one last time.

"You have proven yourself, child of two worlds. My legacy... is yours."

The anvil flared, and from its core emerged a sword unlike any Michael had ever seen. Black-silver steel, etched with faint dragon runes that pulsed like living veins. Its aura was immense, pressing against his body, threatening to crush him with sheer weight of power.

Michael reached out, trembling. The moment his hand touched the hilt, the weapon’s presence flooded his mind ancient, commanding, hungry. His knees buckled, but he refused to release it.

The chamber shook, and the system’s chime resounded.

---

[ Congratulations Host, You have Obtained a Divine Weapon ]

[ Host has formed a Contract with The Drakran Sword ]

---

Michael’s eyes widened as the sword pulsed in his grip. The contract had been forged.

And with it, his path had irrevocably changed.

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